Underneath the mistletoe
the bird sits
A wild misfit of ruffled feathers and windblown tail
Widened eyes and it's lonely dreams, just like The Catcher in the Rye, it dreams of tomorrow
The parched trees sit like dry hands begging for alms in the rain
As cars drive by the pitter patter of lilting rainfall; diminishes its rhythm
It soars in flight-a gale carrying the racing Mustang
Where in the sea of sky blue ice lies white billows of sea foam
It stays in momentum as the flutter of heartbeat take possession
The stormy beads in its irises take the tears of captivity away
It is free as a bird-no pun intended-waving its flapping wings to raise to independence
And every fleeting moment does not go by without the music of birdsong
It's way of writing poetry in the air-so many adventures spent-of love, loss and redemption
It soars once again, as birdsong accompanies its cobwebbed life forevermore.
YOU ARE READING
Blaze
PoetryA collection of songs intertwined in her head that she weaves into a web of intellectual words and let's them flow free in the form of poetry. **actually really cringey poetry that I wrote in the span of a year when I was 14**
